Take Me With You
by Aseptic
Summary: 009 declined 001's offer to join the 00-Cyborg team. A year and a half later, he is jobless and alone in Paris... until he meets an enchanting, slightly familiar blonde. Two-part AU, mild 003x009. Complete.
1. Part 1

**Take Me With You**

_**Part 1**_

**X X X**

"Sorry kid, we've got all the Christmas help we're going to need."

The aging man offered his best sympathetic smile to the would-be employee in front of him. It was a shame, really - he had a nice honest face, even if it was hidden by a fringe in bad need of a trim, and he had the kind of calloused hands which said that he understood work. His clothes were respectable though frayed around the edges, whilst skinny arms said he needed a week of hearty meals. Although Asian rather than French, it was obvious the kid was like many others in Paris: in desperate need of work during the oncoming winter.

But, it was true - and Claire would want to divorce him if he said 'yes' to another stray. It was only a modest bookstore; there were only so many extra pairs of hands that could be needed, even during the holiday season.

"I see. Thankyou, sir," came the fluent French reply. The young man turned to go, and the shopkeeper sighed. He couldn't offer a job, but... well, it was almost Christmas.

"There's a bin of books near the door," he said with a wave of the hand, "Take one for your trouble."

There was a pause and big brown eyes blinked at him slowly. The shopkeeper blinked back, struck by a strange feeling that he was being scanned. It passed after a moment and the young man offered a hesitant smile, a nod of thanks, and followed his feet to the bin near the door.

The shopkeeper sighed again, and went to answer the phone.

**X X X**

"Sir, 009's proximity beacon has changed status."

"To?"

"Active, sir."

Seventh Commander of the European Division, Serge Rousseau pivoted in his chair to look at the soldier relaying this information. He made no effort to surpress the immediate grin.

This was the fruitition of a tedious eighteen month task that Black Ghost had 'allowed' him a week after the infamous "00-Incident". Everyone in the Organisation knew how, two summers earlier, nine cyborgs had broken out of the North-West Pacific Cyborg Experimentation Facility, denying their creators - and by extension, Black Ghost - the ability to control a team of super-humans.

Whilst Cyborgs 001 through to 008 had their tracking devices deactivated within twenty-four hours of escaping with that treacherous doctor, 009's had remained active - and, tasked with the duty of following 009's signal, Commander Rousseau had quickly discovered something remarkable.

009 _hadn't_ joined up with the rest of the 00-team.

Though convoluted and at times completely wrong, reports from the Facility said that he departed the island separately to his comrades via one of Black Ghost's prototype single-unit aircraft. No-one had dreamt that such an action had been due to 009's decision to stay rogue.

Within forty-eight hours of this revelation, sixteen commanders had submitted strategies for either recapturing or destroying 009.

Serge would readily tell _anyone_ that it was _his_ plan that became reality. For despite the wide range of abilities bestowed upon the cyborgs, they all had one thing in common: the tri-beacon system. The device, designed activate when a cyborg was near a Black Ghost enemy, also projected the need for the team to stay together - or at least near to each other. The third function, for signalling when a comrade was under attack, was one that Serge cared little for. He was _far_ more interested in the first two.

Indeed, it had helped them immensely over the course of the mission. By listing the rest of the 00-team as an enemy in passive status, 009 would be drawn to the beacons of the rest of his team, but once near them, their enemy status would trigger the first beacon, alerting anyone who followed it remotely. All that Rousseau's team had to do was track 009 until these things happened.

His comrades, instructed to forget about 009 and worry only about the 00-team had risen and fallen in a cycle of defeat, none of them successful at holding the elite team for any longer than a few hours. After almost two years of this, Black Ghost had begun to remind Commander Rousseau of the importance a _completed_ mission had.

It was an anvil-sized hint that meant one thing only: _hurry up_.

With illusions of wealth and power that this success would bring him, Commander Rousseau stood from his chair. He crossed the metal dias with the cold clink of his boots on steel, and stopped once he could peer over the soldier's shoulder. Fanned out on either side, comrades did not stray from their tasks - but he knew they would be listening intently. Good.

"Where is he?" the Commander asked, english words heavily accented by his native French tongue.

"Paris, sir. The alert suggests just one other Cyborg, there is no information on the location of the rest of the team."

"It's good enough. Send the co-ordinates to the Jack. We will wait in the waters off Calais for extraction."

"Aye, sir," a nod accompanied the acquiesence and the soldier bent to his work. Satisfied, Commander Rousseau returned to his seat and the commanding underwater view it gave him. So long as the Jack did its job properly, by this time in two days he could be reaping all of Black Ghost's rewards.

**X X X**

Patiently turning the books over with his hands, Joe Shimamura tried not to appear too despondent. A book was not a job, but he appreciated the older man's generosity.

This was the fourth place he had asked for a job at, today, and the eighteenth this week. There was just no work for him - the closest he'd gotten was a baker who needed someone to watch the counter, but after a freak accident with a child and a display shelf, he'd almost used his Acceleration to get out of there.

Finding work without a visa was almost impossible, and over the last year and a half Joe had learnt that if he used his translation chip to at least _sound_ like a local, less people asked - especially if they were a small business looking for seasonal help.

Unless it was Paris, apparently.

Although Joe had a small amount of savings from his work in London which afforded him two months rent and a meal a day, his luck had run dry since coming to the French Capital. All he could do was just keep asking for a job and hope that it changed - such was the story of his life, these days.

It crossed his mind regularly that he should have accepted 001's offer to go with the rest of the Cyborgs. The day (and the following six) had been so intense that he truthfully didn't remember much - but he remembered 001's invitation word for word. Ever since realising his mistake Joe had looked for them every where he went, going to the places his instincts told him to go - he'd gone across Asia, Africa, Europe.

His heart wanted to see Japan, but it was too dangerous to go back there yet, and certainly not on his own.

As if mimicking his thoughts Joe's fingers brushed the spine of a traveler's guide to the small but densely populated nation, paused, then turned the book over to see what might be beneath it.

His eye caught something that would be of far more use - a brief history of Europe in the twentieth century. The glossy cover promised a concise guide to every major event that had occurred over the past one hundred years, suitable for anyone who didn't feel like they knew enough already. Joe allowed himself a tiny smile, for it was the sort of thing that would keep him out of trouble until he left Europe - hopefully. He reached for it to get a closer look -

-- and his knuckles brushed that of another.

The hungry little orphan in him made a grab for the book before the other person could get it, and only after he had the guide safely in his hand did Joe look to the competitor.

Two things were immediately apparent: she was vaguely familiar - and _very_ pretty, with shoulder-length blonde hair and an elegant posture that spoke of subtle sophistication. His stomach panged with regret at snatching the book away from her at the same time that it twisted in apprehension - why did he feel like he'd seen her before? That couldn't possibly be a good thing.

"Oh - excuse me," she murmured, the words perfect and natural in French tones. "--Are you buying that book?"

Aware of the fact that his cheeks were warm, Joe glanced down to the cover. He didn't stop to think, holding it out submissively. "You can have it," he replied, as fluently as when he'd spoken with the shopkeeper. "I can find something else."

His reward was a mildly baffled green-eyed stare - assuming that it was because he spoke the language despite his appearance, Joe shrugged and held the book out further, saying nothing more.

With hesitancy she took the book from him, turning it over in her hands to presumably make sure it was the one she wanted. With a dazzling smile, she gave him a soft thankyou and side-stepped him towards the counter.

Joe watched her go, unnerved by the experience. He grabbed a book without looking to see what it was, signalled to the shopkeeper that he'd taken something, and headed for the door.

Cool winter air rushed to greet him as he left the store, bringing an extra chill with it that hinted at snow later. Joe tucked his coat closer to his body and moved to the side of the footpath, out of the way of pedestrian lunchtime traffic. He turned the newly acquired book over for a closer look. As glossy on the front as the last book, it was a guide to the history of Paris - something he couldn't be seen to use too much if he wanted to masquerade as a local.

Still, it would be of _some_ use, so he pocketed it for reading later - first, he still needed to find a job.

Realising that he was facing the way he'd come, Joe turned to head the other way down the street - and stopped, heart leaping to his throat. He hadn't noticed the bookstore's door opening a second time...

"Hello again," the young woman greeted, and this time Joe took the time to look at her properly. The buckskin coat hid the gentle curves of a figure he was sure would be athletic, black boots visible at the bottom. A neat handbag was tucked under one arm, whilst a gloved hand carried the paper bag her new book sat in. The pink scarf around her neck was a compliment to the green eyes he'd noticed earlier, which were visible under the fringe that her red headband couldn't keep back. There was a strange feeling that she didn't belong to this era, and as he tried to puzzle this out, Joe realised that he hadn't yet answered.

"Oh -- hello," he greeted sheepishly. "I -- uhm..."

"Thankyou for letting me have that book," she told him, the corner of her mouth curved in a gentle smile. Joe wondered for a moment if she knew how to _not_ look happy. "I've been looking for something like that for a long time."

"But - aren't you from here?" Aware that his question had come out as a blurt, Joe lifted an arm and scratched the back of his neck with embarrassment. "Sorry, it's just - I thought someone like you wouldn't need a book like that."

"Well..." she looked a little awkward as she shrugged. "I want to learn more - I feel like I've missed a lot."

"Oh." Well, that did make sense. "So the book will help with that?"

"Oh yes, definitely." She brightened and he felt glad for giving it to her. "What did you buy?"

"Me? Uh..." he paused, unsure if he should lie or tell the truth. Finally, hoping to see her smile again, he pulled the small book out and held it out for her to see. "It's just about Paris," he explained as she took it, "I don't know how long I'll be here, so I wanted to know a bit more about the city."

The answer was a nod, and she passed it back with the smile he'd hoped would return. "Have you read much else?"

"A little bit," Joe answered, pocketing the book once more. "I, uh... wanted to explore a bit, actually."

"There sure is a lot to see in Paris," she agreed.

"Yeah - well, I read a bit about flaneur, and, uh - I know we just met, and all..." he had begun to look anywhere but her face, and chose to watch the passing cars as he tried to get the hasty invitation out. He couldn't articulate _why_ he was trying to invite her to walk around Paris with him - it was like a driving force to keep her in sight, nearby, in touch.

"Oh!"

Joe stopped talking entirely, and watched her with trepidation.

She grinned a little. "I don't know your name, but... yes, a walk would be nice."

"Uhm - it's Joe," he told her, dimly aware of the fact that she had said yes - she'd said _yes_!

"I'm Francoise," she told him, holding a hand out.

Joe shook it slowly. "Nice to meet you," he told her, letting go of her hand after a polite shake.

Francoise nodded with her ever-present smile, and gestured down the street. "There are some nice arcades this way," she told him. Joe automatically began to walk, still more than a little amazed at his success. Francoise fell into step alongside him, and like a picturesque couple they set off down the street.

**X X X**

"So have you lived here your whole life?"

By late afternoon, Francoise and Joe had wound up in a Parisian suburb, the rows of houses almost enchanting with their slightly crooked lines and a dusting of snow from a short fall promised earlier in the day. They walked closely but at a companionable distance, Joe with his hands in his coat pockets, Francoise swinging her bag lightly with the steps. They were both tired and cold from being out since the lunchtime, but they were happy - four hours had been just right for discovering that despite having seldom in common, each was immensely fascinating to the other. Joe had told her sparing details of his history - about being an orphan, of his recent travels, his quest for a job. They had just begun on Francoise's history, after a short detour through her surprising knowledge about the early twentieth century.

To Joe's question, Francoise shook her head. "When I was a little girl I lived in the country... but when I was a bit older, we moved to the city." She came to a gentle stop, Joe pausing a few steps after her. "See that house, across the street? It has a green door, and roses in the garden in summer."

"I see it," Joe nodded, studying the building. His Cyborg enhancements were automatically taking quick measurements of the home, calculating the route of quickest access, estimating a probable internal blueprint, and cross-referencing the address against his inbuilt database of Black Ghost employees, enemies and allies.

"That's where my brother, Jean-Paul lives," Francoise continued, and looking to Joe, offered a small smile. "Will you be alright finding your way back to the main street?"

Realising abruptly that they were about to part ways, Joe glanced distractedly down the road. "Yeah, sure," he told her, eager to dismiss it. He'd been lost so many times that it didn't phase him. "--you're going?"

"I have to get back," Francoise told him, "But thankyou for the company, Joe. It's been a long time since I've walked through the city."

"- What about tomorrow?" he asked, unhappy with the idea of losing all contact. "I mean, if you're not doing anything, we could do this again..."

Francoise bit her lip, obviously unsure of how to answer... and, Joe hoped, reluctant to say goodbye as well. "I don't know," she admitted finally, "I guess another day would be alright... can I meet you here, at this bus stop?"

--Bus stop? It occurred to him that he needed to pay greater attention to his surroundings, for they were indeed standing at a bus stop. That made it easy to find, he supposed, so Joe nodded an agreement. "Yeah, okay - when?"

"The afternoon," Francoise told him, becoming less hesitant with every word. "Five o'clock?"

"Five o'clock," Joe confirmed, storing it in his memory, "Okay."

"Alright." Francoise smiled once more, and turned to cross the road. Joe watched her slip through the house gate and turn to wave at him. He waved back, but his line of sight was cut off by the arrival of a bus. By the time it took on passengers and rumbled away again, Francoise was well out of sight.

Joe allowed himself a satisfied sigh, and set about finding his way back to the main street.

**X X X**

The following afternoon was preceded by a morning of more failed job applications. He only tried three, picking them from different streets near his flat so that it didn't look like he was just going from one store to the nearest neighbour. However desperate he was, he didn't want to appear _that_ desperate.

Despite reaching a total of twenty-one refusals, Joe couldn't be depressed. His thoughts were dominated by the enchanting Francoise and as five o'clock drew nearer, he faced the occasional panicked moment that things might not go so well as the previous day.

At a few minutes after five he approached the bus stop, and leant against the wall of a near by building to wait. It was slightly warmer than the day before and some of the snow had begun to melt, which Joe found himself watching idly.

The minutes ticked by without Francoise appearing. He waited patiently at first, but worry set in. He hadn't been _that_ late - three minutes at the most. He knew that she was patient, three minutes wouldn't have made a difference... but what if his watch was wrong? It was actually five o'clock, right? It was definitely this bus stop, it was across from a green door and frozen rose bushes... so where was Francoise?

Maybe she was running a bit late. Maybe her watch was wrong, or she was looking for him at another bus stop. With no way to contact her, Joe told himself he would have to be content with waiting.

When twenty minutes had passed without Francoise appearing, he began to worry a great deal more. She _had_ been reluctant to meet him... what if she'd lied, and that wasn't her brother's house at all? What if her brother had said she couldn't meet him again today? Joe didn't have any brothers or sisters, but he knew from the orphanage that they could be _very_ protective of each other.

Maybe if he introduced himself? .. No, he didn't want to be rude or impatient. He'd wait until it was half-past, then he'd go over and ask if Francoise was there.

The deadline of five-thirty came and went and the woman didn't show.

Thoroughly concerned by now, Joe left the bus stop with uncomfortable uncertainty. Living on his own he'd come to be very shy, and with no guarantee that this was even her brother's house, he was more than a little hesitant to demand the right to knowing her whereabouts.

Approaching the stone fence, Joe went to leap over the fence from habit and checked himself just shy of doing so - that was not a good way to start. Pushing open the gate with one hand instead, he followed the skinny path to the green door, and knocked carefully.

There was no response for a full minute. Joe waited as patiently as he could, glancing back to the bus stop routinely to make sure that Franscoise hadn't arrived after he had left. His sensors told him that there was an organic life form inside the building so he knocked again, and this time was rewarded with a muffled yell of something in French - a 'hold on', his translation chip told him.

In time, with a series of clicks that denoted a number of locks coming undone, the door was prised open. An elderly man stood there, nearly bent double with osteoporosis and arthritis, leaning heavily on a walking stick as he pushed the door open. A mop of white hair was combed neatly in a fashion that mimicked the 1920's, but his wisened eyes were as bright as a twenty-year-old's.

Taking in Joe's skinny, anxious appearance, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Yes?" he asked.

Joe was caught off guard - was this Francoise's grandfather, perhaps? He cleared his throat and said politely, "Excuse me sir, I'm sorry to disturb you... does Francoise live here?"

"Francoise?"

In a heartbeat the suspicion was gone, replaced by a look of deep ache. "...No, she does not," the elderly man answered, and Joe picked up on the slight quiver in the words.

"Do you know where I can find her?"

The weight of the man's sigh was alarming; it seemed to pull his shoulders into a heavy slump, eye contact broken. "Son, I don't know where you got your information from, but Francoise's been dead for fifty years."

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	2. Part 2

**Take Me With You**

_**Part 2**_

**X X X**

Fifty years, the old man said.

Francoise was dead.

She'd died fifty years ago.

The woman he'd spent the previous afternoon with... didn't exist.

She _hadn't_ existed for fifty years.

Joe's head spun as he stared at the elderly Frenchman, trying to wrap his head around the concept. He didn't know what to say, or what to do next - living on your own was enough to eradicate the social skills needed in this type of situation, but Joe had never had them in the first place. He found himself blinking several times before he could concentrate enough to speak - and when he opened his mouth, what came out was hardly eloquent.

"I don't understand."

The old man sighed and moved out of the doorway, gesturing for Joe to come inside. "I will tell you the story," he said, "Or at least what I know."

**X X X**

"Sir?"

"_What_?" Commander Rousseau snapped his chair around to look at the Petty Officer who had disturbed his requiem, a scowl twisting his features.

He was given the satisfaction of a startled look in return, the young woman now hesitant to give her information. When the Commander lifted to his feet with that same unpleasant expression, she whipped back around to the console. "The Jack has arrived in Paris, sir," she told him, speaking quickly and keeping her eyes on the screen. "ETA to 009's location is thirty-five minutes."

"It can't go any faster?" the Commander grumbled, flopping back in his seat with all ideas of harrassment now cast out of his head. "Have the 00 rest of the Cyborgs been located yet?"

"They are not on 009's radar, sir."

Annoyed by this but aware that he couldn't change it, Commander Rousseau slumped in his seat with a muttered curse. It was too late to recall the Jack and he could not afford to show hesitation in the eyes of Black Ghost. He would just have to hope that when the Jack found his target, the rest of the team (how far away could they be?) would rush to 009's defense.

There was a small unit of soldiers permanently located in Paris, under the control of his comrade, Lieutenant Colonel Laurent. They were, like other small units, stationed there specifically because it was the hometown for a rogue Cyborg - and he was sure that Laurent would not get in his way if he needed to borrow some of those soldiers to contain the rest of the 00 Cyborgs.

Although, it was possible that Laurent would want a small piece of the prize... Rousseau frowned at this, slumped in his chair further, and turned his mind to a plan that would allow him to keep all the glory for himself.

Thankful for the distraction, the Petty Officer muttered a thanks to her guardian and resumed monitoring the Jack.

**X X X**

Standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway of a small terrace, Joe watched as his accidental host put on a pot of coffee. Having had little opportunity in his life to see what someone's home looked like, he had been pleasantly surprised by the decor - and the _warmth_.

Having spent most of the day outside, Joe hadn't realised how cold he actually was. Stores were warm, yes, but he was only in those for as long as it took to ask for a job, and his own tiny flat only came with minimal heating.

"Follow me," the old man told him, walking stick in one hand and a perfectly balanced tray in the other. Joe nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to move out of the way, then followed (slowly) as they left the kitchen, crossed the hall, and came into a drawing room. A fire crackled on the far side of the room, and two large winged chairs were positioned by it. A small table sat between the two chairs and it was here that the tray went, the china clinking as it came to rest on the table with a slight drop.

Joe only paid a fraction of attention to this, his eyes on the walls as he took in the room from the doorway. A large double window showed the garden outside, whilst the furtherest wall was lined with bookcases. One shelf was dominated by a slightly dusty case of medals that his internal system identified as being from the war era, delivered to men - or the families thereof - who had been in the French Air Force.

Joe quietly filed away the information that his host was a Veteran.

"Come sit, come sit." The invitation was coupled with an impatient wave of the hand, which Joe obeyed. He crossed the room and sat in the second chair carefully, a little perplexed by the way the chair's cushions sank after him. They hadn't looked nearly this soft from across the room. He glanced to the fire and then to the art-deco mantle surrounding it, and here he saw photos. There were only a few and all of them looked as though they had cleaned recently, the glass gleaming in the warm light of the room.

Before he had time to observe them closely, his host was leaning forward to serve the coffee. Distracted by this, Joe watched until it was time to take his cup with a polite nod of thanks, his artificially enhanced skin barely registering the hot ceramic as his fingers curled around it.

"Mm," the elderly man murmured, inhaling the scent of the coffee. "Much better than that cold garden, yes?"

Joe opened his mouth to answer, then realised that he'd been spoken to in english. That was odd. He thought about questioning it, but elected to go along with it, switching to english communications before replying. "Much," he agreed, "Thankyou, sir."

"My name is Jean-Paul, son, call me that."

Joe tried to disguise his surprise as Francoise's words echoed in his head.

_That's where my brother, Jean-Paul lives._

It didn't work, Jean-Paul smiling bitterly. "You know my name, yes?"

"I know you are Francoise's brother," Joe explained quietly. It didn't occur to him to use past-tense.

"Yes, that's right. Why are you looking for Francoise?"

Uh-oh. Joe never liked to lie, but he knew that he couldn't tell this man the truth - not only was it unbelieveable, but he didn't know what to make of it himself and didn't want to be the one responsible for more heartbreak for someone who had already suffered a great deal. "I, uh... wanted to see her," he answered.

"What for?"

"I wanted to talk about Paris," Joe elaborated, picking his words as carefully as he could, "I thought she would know a lot. I didn't realise..."

"That she's not here?" there was a gleam of a strange kind of sad humour in Jean-Paul's eyes as he answered, the smile less bitter and more remorseful this time. "Truthfully, I only had her declared dead a few years ago."

That sounded more than a little strange to Joe, and however shy he was, the heart on his sleeve couldn't hide that. "Why?" he asked carefully.

Jean-Paul sighed, swilling his undrunk coffee. "We grew up in the country," he explained, "Francoise, me, and our parents. We lived in a big, beautiful house and my father practised flying every day - he was a pilot in the _Armée de l'Air_, but... he did not return from the war. My mother died of a broken heart, leaving Francoise and I behind. We came to the city - she wanted to dance, I needed work. It was not easy, and she did not like my work as a stuntman, but we got by."

Jean-Paul paused to drink his coffee and Joe waited, having listened thusfar in dutiful silence. If asked, he could recall Jean-Paul's tale word-for-word; he was subconsciously storing every bit of information like his programming was supposed to.

"That is her, in the red tutu."

Following the old man's nod, Joe's eyes fell on the mantle piece photographs for the second time. He noted several different aircraft - or the same in different colours? - briefly, searching for the 'red tutu'.

And there was Francoise, smiling at the camera. Her hair was tied in a bun and had been stained a darker colour by some type of dye (his archives told him that only brunettes were considered 'proper' Ballerinas at the time the photo was taken), red ballet shoes on her feet and lithe body encased in a red tutu. It was unmistakeably the same woman he had spent the previous day with, but that... _how? _She had been unquestionably familiar when he'd encountered her the day before, and the red tutu just drove the feeling home. But if she'd been dead for fifty years...

_She was the girl cyborg._

Archived footage - memories if he'd been more human - flashed to the front of his mind, bringing him back to that hectic day when he had first met the 00-team. The red tutu was the same as her Cyborg uniform, but in the chic clothes of the day before and with a smile on her face he hadn't been able to place her. When they'd met, things had been so intense - and himself so exhausted from 001's 'directions' - that he'd only had the briefest of moments to interact with her. He rarely revisited the events of that day, and when he did, it was to 001 that he paid his attention, not the rest of the team.

Everything clicked into place - why she'd known so much about the history of Paris but still wanted a history book, why she'd vanished so quickly after saying goodbye -- and why she hadn't returned?

Joe felt a cold wave wash over him as it occurred to him that talking to her brother was now a very dangerous idea... but he didn't know how to escape the situation without making it worse. He nodded to Jean-Paul to show that he saw the photo, then sipped anxiously from his coffee. It was rich and warm, but he was barely aware of it.

"She was a beautiful dancer," Jean-Paul continued, "She became a prima donna, or at least - she got the invitation to become one. They arranged to pick her up from her rehearsals and then show her the company she was invited to be a part of. I received a letter the next week, telling me that she loved the company and wanted to stay there, and she would visit me in the summer."

"Did she visit you?" Joe asked, unsure of what else he could possibly say.

"No," Jean-Paul answered, watching the fire instead of his guest, "That letter was the last I heard of her. I searched everywhere, talked to all of her friends. They were disappointed that they had not heard from her... after a year, I learnt the company did not exist. For a time, I thought she had lied about the company and run away, but I could find no trace of her. The police tried to help, but they could not find anything either."

"I see," Joe murmured quietly. He drank the last of the coffee, and set it down on the tray.

The soft clink of china seemed to pull the elderly man from the memories he had sunk into, and he copied the motion although his own cup was still mostly full. "I miss her every day, but in fifty years that has not brought her back. If you like, I can tell you what I know about this beautiful city."

"Oh -" startled by the suggestion, Joe was quick to shake his head. "It's alright, sir. Thankyou for telling me what you have, I... understand, now."

"Are you certain?" Jean-Paul was clearly doubtful, but Joe tried to brush it off by standing to bow politely.

"I am, sir. Thankyou again."

"You're welcome, son, but my name is Jean-Paul."

**X X X**

It was well and truly dark by the time Joe had left Jean-Paul's house, walked the skinny path, and gently closed the garden gate. His head was swimming under the weight of what he had learnt, and he didn't know where to begin dissecting it.

Once on the street, Joe allowed his feet to pick a direction for despite the cold grip of winter, he had no wish to return to his flat yet. It was not a particularly nice place to be, and if he had to be alone, he wanted to be around strangers at the very least.

Hands deep in his coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, and nose buried in the tattered scarf he had been given by Jean-Paul to ward off the chills (if it was a thankyou, Joe didn't understand what for), he wandered in and out of populated areas as he wove his way out of suburbian Paris and back towards its heart. As he walked he turned Jean-Paul's story over in his head, fitting it against the probability that Francoise was a Cyborg. Certain that it was true, Joe found himself with a freshly uncomfortable question.

Why hadn't she told him?

It was possible Francoise thought he had returned to Black Ghost, he knew that. It was a logical conclusion, for he _had_ rejected the offer to join them... and if they didn't know where he was - just like he didn't know where they were - then for all they could know, he might have easily gone back to Black Ghost. Joe had no intention of ever doing so, and the thought made him sick, but he was sensible enough to realise that they couldn't feasibly know that.

By now he had come to a children's playground and with despondency at his heels, Joe slumped in the seat of one of the park benches. A hand gripped the metal arm idly, ignoring the bite of cold that came with it.

What if Francoise hadn't wanted him to join the Cyborgs? Maybe they were still insulted and didn't want to invite him again... and if he'd known, he certainly would have asked to be on the team. It might have been easier to just not tell him, because then they wouldn't have to reject him.

Or worse yet, what if she hadn't realised that he was a Cyborg too? He had only just learnt that she was the same cyborg he'd seen that day, what if like him, Francoise hadn't picked up on it? It wasn't like he'd openly said he wasn't human.

_Damn you, Black Ghost_.

"Hello, Joe."

His head snapped up - he knew that voice!

It was the same petite blonde as the day before, the same charming green eyes, the same cute little smile... her clothes were different but he didn't care, she'd found him, _she'd found him!_

All his doubts were swallowed up by the mix of surprise and adrenaline-fueled ecstacy, Joe leaping to his feet. "Francoise!"

"Hello," she repeated, and as he left the seat, she turned to sit on it.

Joe immediately did the same, grinning widely. "I didn't think I'd see you."

"I found you," she told him, hands settling in her lap.

That was a bit of a weird thing to say. "You were looking for me?" He'd been at the bus stop...

"Yes, I was," she confirmed, turning to smile at him.

"How did you find me?" Joe asked carefully. If he was easy to follow he was going to have to learn to hide better, or else Black Ghost was going to find him.

"I tracked you!" Francoise answered, clearly pleased by the achievement.

"Oh. Well, listen - I didn't know where you were, so... I talked to your brother, Jean-Paul," Joe paused but didn't look at her, rushing to finish before she could chastise him, "He thinks you're dead, but... I know you're a Cyborg."

"I am a Cyborg."

He twisted to stare at her, surprised by the outright confession. "Why didn't you tell me yesterday?"

"I don't know," came the answer, a shrug accompanying it.

Despite his best intentions, Joe felt a flash of irritation. "Look, I hope you don't think I work for Black Ghost, because I don't. I ... I want to join the team, actually."

"I work for Black Ghost."

Joe felt an uncomfortable clench in his stomach as he sat up straight, scooting on the bench to put some distance between them. "_What_?"

A laser pistol had found its way to Francoise's hand, and too surprised to do anything about it, Joe could only stare in alarm. "Francoise, what are you --"

Her finger squeezed the trigger - Joe flinched - heard the blast - felt a whoosh of air - felt himself pulled away from the bench - and landed on his shoulder in half-melted snow, ten metres away from the bench. He didn't have a scratch on him.

Joe tried to sit up, hearing the words "You're welcome," with the twang of a New York accent. He glanced up to see another familiar face - with a mane of red hair, a great nose, and at that moment an irritated grimace on his face, the Cyborg that Joe remembered as '002' stood next to him.

"What's Francoise doing?" Joe asked, picking himself up unsteadily. He'd never experienced Acceleration as a passenger, and found it decidedly unsettling.

"That's not Francoise," came another voice, the accent distinctly British. Joe glanced over his shoulder to spy the bald Cyborg 007, and behind him... the rest of the 00-team, all clad in their brilliant red uniforms. Francoise stood off to the left, a two-year-old in her arms. She wasn't looking at him, eyes closed and a hand to her temple as she listened to something.

Joe felt his heart swelled in relief at the sight of allies and of the proper Francoise, but before he could say anything - or answer 007 - he was pushed off to the side by 002 with a cry of, "Look out!"

Shots from the laser-pistol buried themselves in the ground near where Joe had been standing, and as he regained his balance for the second time, shook himself off in annoyance. He could be distracted by Francoise later... for now, he had to show the team that he was worthy of joining them.

Dropping into a natural fighting stance, Joe eyed off their blonde opponent. "What is she, then?" he asked.

_It's called a Jack_, a voice in his head answered. Knowing immediately that it was 001, he nodded, watching with 002 and 007 as this imitation Francoise stood from the bench. Her form flickered like a hologram, some type of metal visible beneath the image.

_They're a prototype imitation droid that can take on any human form, _Ivan explained, _They are designed to trick you into believing they are someone you know, but they aren't very good. They have no independent thought because they have no human parts, so their conversation capacity is limited and their targets usually pick up on the deceit very quickly. _

That definitely explained the peculiar things she'd said, and how she'd 'tracked' him. Did that mean Black Ghost knew where he was? Damnit. "Thanks," he told the young Cyborg aloud, and readied himself as the Jack lifted the - her? - gun.

002 was faster, lifting his pistol and firing three straight shots through the Jack's shoulder. All three struck, creating a sizeable hole and disabling the hologram. Before them stood the droid, typical of Black Ghost design and made of the same alloy all over. 002's infliction didn't seem to have any effect, the Jack glancing to it disinterestedly as oil leaked from the hole and tricked down towards the snow-covered ground. Being completely artificial, it hadn't felt a thing.

Joe, unsure of what that was meant to achieve, prepared to engage Acceleration. He'd take care of this -

_Wait_, 001 instructed, _Watch how a team fights._

Joe didn't care for the idea but forced himself to obey - and just as well. He hadn't seen the stout Chinese man who had snuck around behind the Jack and crawled under the bench. The oil leak had turned into a steady stream, pooling at the Jack's heel and staining the snow an ugly colour.

Watching, Joe spotted 006 under the bench and looking entirely mischievious as he got the signal from 007. A whoosh of fire ignited the oil, raced up the leak and set the Jack on fire, who began to spasm as the internal mechanics burnt midway through their calculations for an emergency procedure.

002 lifted into the air, and flew the short distance necessary to retrieve 006 whilst 005 - surely the biggest man Joe had ever seen - moved to the nearby water fountain and pulled it up from the ground. In one move he broke the pipe, causing the water to spout into the air. Two immense hands cupped around the water and directed it at the Jack, obliterating the flames in a matter of moments. Now nothing more than a blackened and saturated shell, the droid crumpled to the ground.

Joe could only watch in amazement, fascinated by the co-ordination of the group. He was reminded strongly of the day that he had met them, and wished more than ever that he had taken up that offer to join when 001 made it.

"Is that the only one?" 004 asked of Francoise.

The woman opened her eyes and nodded to her companion, a hesitant smile on her features. "It is."

Satisfied, 004 turned towards the others. In the background, 005 had attempted to repair the fountain by plonking it back where it was, though no water was coming through the top. "Good work, team," 004 told those who had engaged the Jack, who responded with nods that acknowledged him. The German then turned to Joe, and held out his metal hand. "Good to see you again," he said pleasantly.

Joe hesitated but took the hand, his grin small and shy. "Hello," he managed.

_In case you were wondering, 009, we still have an empty seat on our ship. I cannot tell you -_

"Please," Joe cut in, interrupting what he hoped was 001's invitation, "Take me with you."

The atmosphere cracked and the young man found himself looking at the grins of eight faces, the mismatched but otherwise perfect team pleased by Joe's choice.

_Welcome to the team, 009._

**X X X**

Commander Rousseau glanced to his watch impatiently. It had been almost an hour since the Jack's ETA had been announced and he was tired of waiting. He was about to bark the order for a status update when a Petty Officer - the same one who had disturbed him earlier - swung around in her chair. She looked nervous... he didn't like that.

"Commander?"

"Out with it," he growled, leaning forward to watch her intently.

"We lost the signal for the Jack, sir, and it is not responding to any new orders."

"In other words," Rousseau said slowly, his tone dangerous, "It's failed."

"... Lieutenant Colonel Laurent's men are collecting the remains now, sir."

"Damnit!"

The few things scattered on the nearest surface - a logbook, a bottle, 009's blueprints - were shoved into the air with a roar of anger from the Commander. He whirled to find the next target and found that every Black Ghost soldier was staring at him.

"Get back to work," he snarled, "And find that stupid rogue Cyborg!"

"Sir," the Petty Officer put in, after taking a step back from her enraged superior, "We've also lost the signal for 009."

"What?!" Rousseau stalked towards her dashboard, shoving the subordinate out of the way to look at the screens himself. Losing it meant one of two things - 009 had been destroyed by the Jack, which was not in the droid's orders, or ... or he'd had his tracking device disabled, and _that_ meant he had joined the 00-team.

Black Ghost was _not_ going to be happy to hear this.

"Sir," a Petty Officer called from the far side of the room, "Incoming transmission from Black Ghost... for you, sir."

Ten minutes later, a white-faced Rousseau put in the order to return to base.

**X X X**

Clad in the bright red uniform of the 00-team, Joe studied his reflection with no small amount of wonderment. It was the first uniform he had chosen to wear in his life, and although it was strange... he relished the security.

Beyond the glass was the murky water of the deep sea, the vessel set for the warmer waters of the south Atlantic. Dr. Gilmore had extracted them from Toulouse earlier, a day after he had remet and officially joined his fellow cyborgs. A quick bit of field surgery had neutralised the tracking chip he'd been mortified to learn that he carried, and once on board Dr. Gilmore had finished the job.

Then he'd been told to get dressed and join them for one of 005's four-course dinners.

He'd managed the first half, but in trying to find his way to the kitchen he'd become a little bit... lost. Unafraid of the fact - how lost could you get on a ship underwater? - he had started wandering, until he found himself in this strange little sitting room, decked out with comfortable chairs and enough floor space to dance.

He thought of Francoise doing just that and had to smile to himself.

"Are you going to join us?"

He turned and was not surprised to see Francoise filling the doorway behind him. She was no longer in civillian clothes, her uniform just the way he remembered first seeing it. He smiled more openly, turning to face her. "You always appear when I think about you."

Francoise paused, a light colour touching her cheeks. "Thinking about me?" she asked.

"Yeah... your brother told me you loved to dance."

"I do," she answered, a spark of passion coming to her. "Or, well, I did," she corrected, the spark dimming, "With so much fighting, there isn't much time to think about dancing."

"It won't be that way forever," Joe told her, with a confidence he hadn't felt before. In the past he'd always thought about staying out of Black Ghost's way and hoping they didn't find him... since finding his place, he had begun to turn his thoughts towards actually doing something about their communal enemy.

"I hope so," Francoise said softly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was a Cyborg."

"It's alright," Joe replied with a mild shrug. "I probably wouldn't have said anything either."

"Well you're here now, so I guess it doesn't matter," she concluded, a little more relaxed now that he'd said he didn't fault her. "Are you coming to dinner?"

"Yeah, sure," Joe smiled, gesturing for her to lead the way. "I want to try some of 005's cooking, I've heard a lot about it."

"He's really very good," Francoise answered, voice echoing a bit as she lead the way down the hall. Their steps echoed in the metal environment as Joe fell into step beside her, keeping pace with the same ease that he'd had in Paris.

"I believe you," he said in response.

"Hey, Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you tell me what my brother was like, later?"

He smiled, the sounds of the communal dining hall falling into earshot as they neared their destination. "Of course."

"Thankyou."

And so they entered the room, leaving their private world temporarily in exchange for the warmth of comrades.

**X X X**

**The end.**


End file.
